The Exchange
by WhovianwithaBenediction
Summary: Sherlock and John are investigating in a warehouse when Moriarty is finally caught. However, the unexpected happens and an exchange of prisoners is the only solution.  terrible summary, I know


**AN: This is my first fanfiction for Sherlock! Sadly, I do not own the characters... though I wish I did! On a sidenote, I do not know much about Sebastian Moran, so please excuse any mistake I make about his character. Please read and review! Thanks!**

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><p>Sherlock ducked as a bullet shot through the air just where his head had been a fraction of a second before. It was impossible to tell where this one had come from. Moran seemed to constantly be moving along with Sherlock and John and each shot came from a different location. Or maybe Moriarty had multiple snipers after them. Sherlock just couldn't be sure. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see John racing next to him.<p>

The warehouse was huge. Moriarty had set the place up perfectly, too perfectly. Giant bins were placed meticulously so that they created a sort of maze. Even Sherlock was having a difficult time memorizing the patterns.

Another bullet just barely missed them. Moran was playing with them, that much was clear. Just like Moriarty, playing a game before he really became serious.

"John," Sherlock gasped. "Split up."

He heard John huff loudly. "What?"

"Split up!" He repeated. "Moran can't go after both of us at the same time. Try and find the way out."

"Sherlock—"

The detective groaned. "Just do as I say!" Thankfully, John decided not to question his order, and took a sharp right turn within seconds, leaving Sherlock running alone. Sherlock returned his focus to the path before him. What he hadn't told John was that he was not looking for an exit. An exit would come later. His priority, right this moment, was Moriarty. After he found the consulting criminal, then he would find a way out.

After all, Sherlock preferred to see his opponent face to face. And he was sure that Moriarty felt the same way about him.

No more bullets sounded. Anywhere. Moran had stopped. Surely splitting up wouldn't have stopped the sniper from going after either one of them, had it? Sherlock slowed to a halt, just to see what might happen. A minute passed. Two. No shots. The warehouse was silent. From that area forwards, Sherlock crept along the lines of bins, searching for anything that might help him find Moriarty.

Eventually, there was a break in the lines of bins. A door was left slightly open, and a faint yellow glow came from within. Sherlock's mind raced. Could this be where Moriarty was waiting? He snuck forward until he reached the threshold of the door. Listening carefully, he could hear movement in the next room. Sherlock braced himself, and then burst through the door.

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><p>John was running out of breath. He could not keep running for much longer. He may only have a psychosomatic limp, and the problem had been dealt with, but it still had a lasting impact. Suddenly, he saw it. The exit, big and bright, wide open for him to run through. The sight gave him that last spur of energy he needed to reach it quickly. Half way there, he saw something though, another hidden corridor. It was hidden in a way that you would never have seen it from afar, the bins concealing it perfectly. But once you were right on top of it, it was completely obvious. For some strange reason, John felt compelled to check this small corridor out. The desire to be out of the maze entirely was strong, but he was battling his sense of curiosity this time.<p>

Against his better judgment, he deviated from his path to the corridor and stepped in cautiously. It was a tiny bit dimmer in the shadows, but John could still see fine. When he was a few feet in, however, a darker shadow stepped forth into the lighter ones.

"Hello, Johnny-boy," Moriarty grinned.

John felt himself freeze. It was him. He was there. In front of John. He finally gathered his wits and drew his old army pistol from his jacket. "Moriarty."

"Oh come now. A gun? Really? How original," the consulting criminal drawled.

Keeping the gun trained on Moriarty, John eyed him warily. "The game is over, Moriarty. You've been caught. The police are on their way."

Moriarty laughed. "Oh, Dr. Watson, the game is just beginning! You should know by now that I am not so easily caught."

The sounds of the police swarming into the warehouse suddenly rang throughout the building. Voices were coming closer. "Over here!" John shouted over his shoulder, still watching Moriarty.

The criminal's smug smile stayed permanently fixed on his face. The look unnerved John. It was as if Moriarty knew what was happening and it was exactly what he wanted. The worst part was that John wouldn't put it past Moriarty to have it all planned out. He could only hope that they had actually caught him this time.

Within moments, several cops found John and the cornered consulting criminal. Just before Moriarty was taken away, he smirked at John. "Give Sherlock my regards," he said pointedly. Then he was surrounded and led away.

John bristled. He did not understand how that man thought he could play with Sherlock in this way. It was disgusting. John ran his hand through his hair. _Hopefully we'll never have to worry about it again,_ he thought. Just then, he realized that he had not seen Sherlock since they had split up during the chase. _Where is he?_

Glancing around, John spotted Lestrade a few feet away. "Greg!"

Lestrade saw John and approached him. "We've finally got him," he stated in amazement. "I never thought it would be this easy."

"I know," John agreed thoughtfully. "Have you seen Sherlock?"

The other man's brow furrowed. "No. I would have thought he would be around gloating. But then again, he might be off investigating something else."

John nodded uneasily. "Yeah…" he muttered. "What about Moran? Did you catch him?"

"No, he got away. But we have the Moriarty, without him the sniper should be easier to find," Lestrade mused.

"Right." _They are both missing. Maybe Sherlock is still following Moran?_ "Thanks Lestrade." John walked to the edge of the scene and pulled out his mobile phone. He would call Sherlock and check in. John dialed Sherlock's number into his phone. The ringing went on for some time, before finally going dead. Confused and a bit worried, John tried a second time. Still no answer. He pushed away the feelings of apprehension that were rising in his chest and instead focused on reasons why Sherlock wouldn't have answered. He could still be after Moran. Maybe he lost his own mobile in the chase.

John pocketed his phone with a sigh. Anything could have happened, but he would wait. There was no use panicking if Sherlock was perfectly fine. He would wait a few hours before trying again.

After informing Lestrade that he would meet him at the station the next morning for paperwork, John hailed a cab and went home to Baker Street. The cab ride seemed longer than it usually did. John's hand stayed near his trouser pocket, waiting for the text or call from Sherlock to confirm that he was alright and John's worries were unnecessary. Nothing came.

Finally, the cab reached 221b, and John paid the cabbie before climbing out into the night. He entered the flat as quietly as he could, not wishing to disturb Mrs. Hudson so late at night. Locking the door behind him, he turned to ascend the steps into his and Sherlock's part of the flat.

John froze when he felt a buzzing in his pocket. He fished his mobile out his mobile and flipped it open. One new message. He pressed the button to access the message and nearly dropped the phone when he saw the content.

_No_.

It was a picture. Moran was kneeling on the ground next to a bruised and bloody Sherlock. Sherlock's head lolled unnaturally to one side and his eyes were closed.

John's heart about stopped when he saw the picture. _Sherlock._ The phone buzzed again in his hand. Shakily, he opened this message as well, dreading to know what lay inside.

This one was just words, though it was not much better.

_Bet you never saw this coming. Better hurry. –SM_


End file.
